Ghoul's Therapy
by Nutty Strife
Summary: Author's Note: My first ("published") fanfiction. This is a Ghoul one-shot because I can do a good impression of the character and I was inspired to make this after reading other Ghoul fanfictions. Ghoul and other mentioned characters belong to DC comics. Therapist belongs to me. Please R&R! :)


He had come in and immediately laid down on the reclining chair, no questions asked.

...

...

...

An eerie silence pierced the room. And then, the sigh.

"Are you okay, Stewart?"

Stewart. Stewart Carter Winthrop III. He hated that name. Had ever since he could remember. In fact, he hated his family's culture, the way they so haughtily presented themselves...and to make it all worse, they had put him into therapy for fear of their eldest son becoming tainted.

"Yes, I'm fine, Miss." He glanced at her nametag, which read 'Dr. Holt.' "Sorry. Doctor." Apologizing was a foreign concept to him. Normally people apologized to _him_ , because of his wealthy upbringing. And his father's company...mainly his father. But he detested this. He wanted to be accepted for who he wanted to be, not for what his genes said he was supposed to be. A rich kid with everything handed to him. No. And if they couldn't accept him, they'd have to fear him.

"So, your parents tell me you've been having trouble in school." Dr. Holt brought up. "Among other things…" She said a little quieter.

"School's okay, actually. Nothing wrong as far as I'm concerned." He declined to tell her he had hacked into the school's mainframe and changed his grades. Not that he couldn't just do the work, it was simply that he didn't care. 'To be accepted in this world, you had to look like you didn't care what others thought of you.' He thought.

"Well…" Dr. Holt started. "Tell me about yourself. Why are you dressed like...that?"

 _That._ She said it like it was an object she couldn't make heads or tails of. He had on his usual ripped outfit, complete with a grey skin job and a few stitch tattoos. The witch's hat was on the floor only to make for a more comfortable headrest. His ever-trusty jack-o-lantern basket was on the floor as well, just close enough to grab. He gripped it tightly.

"I was born to the powerful Winthrop family. You heard of Bruce Wayne, the first Batman?" At this point, everybody knew Batman's secret identity. 50 years into the future, and someone was bound to spill the beans.

"Of course. He's a hero. Was…" Bruce had passed away just the month before. Crazy how that sounds.

"Yes, well, we've both seen the history cubes, I'm sure…" He looked at her pointedly. She nodded, and he continued:

"Then you know how Batman came to be Batman. He gave in to the darkness. My grand-uncle, Braxton Winthrop, gave into the light. Helped out in his community and everywhere he could due to his being rich, y'know? His parents, like Batman, were killed brutally. Difference was, Batman inherited everything. My grandfather, Stewart Carter Winthrop, inherited almost nothing; Braxton took it all for himself. Accidentally, actually. See, he had no idea that he had a brother."

Dr. Holt was interested. "How did they meet?"

"It happened one day at a family reunion. My grandfather found his brother by looking him up. That's all he ever told me, anyway. But they were never kind to one another. Regardless of what you may see on the outside, Braxton was...abusive to my grandfather. I think he was afraid my grandfather might try and take his money and stop all the help he'd been doing. So my grandfather, being the younger brother by the way, took it upon himself to be strict to my dad, who was strict with me."

Dr. Holt wrote a few notes down. "I see." She said simply.

"Anything else?"

"Why do you dress like that?" She pondered. "You never told me."

"Oh! Right, that. Being rich is alright, I suppose, but it's soo boring. I mean, if I wasn't hac -" He coughed, and caught himself. "If I wasn't listening to music, I don't know what I'd do. So, I decided I needed a new look. My father abused me, as did his. Who's to say I wouldn't do the same?"

Dr. Holt just listened, but she understood. She gestured.

"I built my costume from scraps at an old Halloween store downtown. Of course, I made some modifications to the originals…and a distant relative of mine is Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow."

'The way he said "built" made it seem like he was proud of himself. It's unsurprising to hear of this relative, though.' Dr. Holt thought. She scribbled something.

"And the eye-shadow?" She asked. "The markings, the stitches…?"

"Personal preference for looking creepy."

"And why do you want to look creepy?"

"The attention, I guess. I wanted people to accept me for who I want myself to be...and decided to make them fear me instead."

"Why don't you give them a chance? Maybe they'll find that they like the real you."

"At this point, this _is_ the real me."

"Okay, well, I think that's it for the day, then." She said.

Ghoul got up and shook her hand. As he turned to walk away, he heard: "Don't forget, same time next week."

"I wouldn't miss it." He said while looking back at her. Then, he walked out.


End file.
